


Four People Ginny Weasley Never Shagged (And One Person She Probably Did)

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-13
Updated: 2007-02-13
Packaged: 2018-10-26 14:52:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10788924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Ginny has a lot of fun.





	Four People Ginny Weasley Never Shagged (And One Person She Probably Did)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written as a thank you to the mods at Smutty_Claus. Major PWP, also PWC (that would be   


* * *

1  
  
The air is thick and heavy, weighed down with the scent of roses and cigarettes, sweat and sex. Ginny gyrates her hips from the center of a crush of dancers, tossing her hair and smiling at anyone who happens to catch her eye. Tired of constraining robes and murderous wars and conservative _mothers_ , she is happy to down too many shots of Muggle whiskey and drink away her fears, to dance and sway and sweat away the years of tears of regret  
  
She’s turning and twirling when she catches a familiar set of eyes smiling at her over a clear and dangerous looking drink.  
  
He always smiled at her, even many years ago, smiled at little Ginny Weasley with her red, red hair and her too many freckles and her over abundance of older brothers.  
  
She vaguely remembers that he had submitted his name for the Triwizard Tournament. Given what had happened, Ginny thinks he must have been thrilled that Roger Davies from Ravenclaw had been chosen instead.  
  
Remembering what happened to Davies sends of twinge of guilt down her spine for thinking about him so casually, but Cedric gives her a crooked grin under the Muggle neon lights of the London club they’re in, and Ginny shakes out her red, red hair, tossing the thought aside. She sends a cat-like smile his way, acknowledging the recognition and admiration in his darkening eyes.  
  
She turns and swishes her hips towards the back of the club without looking again over her shoulder. She knows he will follow.  
  
He catches her from behind in the dark, clichéd back hallway, hands spanning her waist as he pulls her back against him, back against the bulge in his trousers. His breath is damp and warm against her ear. “Aren’t you just a tad young to be in here, Ginny Weasley?”  
  
He feels dangerous and hot. He and Cho Chang went out for over two years, Ginny recalls, before Chang and Harry had ended up together. Somewhere deep inside, Ginny is glad to have something of Cho’s. She turns in Cedric’s skinny arms, smiling coyly.  
  
And shakes her head, eyes locked on his, mouthing ‘no’ over the thumping music pulsing its way up her body.  
  
In one smooth motion, he has her pressed against the wall, one hand coming to rest on the wall behind her head, the other cupping her jaw. His eyes drop to her mouth, painted scarlet, and Ginny runs her tongue along her upper row of teeth in anticipation.  
  
“Have you ever been fucked in a hallway?” His breath is bitter near her, mouth so close that she can feel the brush of his lips as he speaks. There’s something decidedly intimate about the posture, heads bent close together, with eyes and lips lined up. Ginny shivers.  
  
“Such language,” she purrs, moving her hands to his chest. She laughs and her breath hitches, hips arching when his hand slides along the length of her thigh and snakes its way under the scrap of clothing she’s wearing for a skirt. A smug chuckle meets her ears when his thumb brushes against the already damp crotch of her knickers. She gasps, just as his head closes the scant distance between their lips, and his tongue catches the sound, pulls it deep into him.  
  
His hand brushes again against her knickers, and he goes right on kissing her, lips and tongue and teeth pulling and swallowing every sound she makes.  
  
Two of his fingers push inside her, while his thumb begins to rub somewhere on the outside, and he stops kissing her to bend over and bite her roughly on the breast, wetting the layers of fabric and sending shivers skating down her spine. She doesn’t even bother to stifle the moan, just presses her face against his hair.  
  
She’s feeling steadily dizzier as he pushes harder and rubs harder, and her chest rises and falls, rises and falls as she bucks against his hand, and all the while he sucks and bites at her nipples.  
  
And then something clicks. She’s not rising higher and higher, just falling, down and down and down.  
  
In the club’s dark light his eyes appear pinpricked, predatory, and smug as his fingers slip from her. He brings his hand near his nose, giving a casual sniff that sends a shot of something pinging through her.  
  
She answers his cocky little grin with one of her own and reaches to unzip his trousers. His cock slips out with a pop, and she’s on her knees, breathing in deeply as she presses her face against his groin. In the dim light, she can just make him out. She gives his veined cock a long lick, letting a self-satisfied smirk settle when he moans a little, and mumbles something that sounds like, “yeah, please, yeah.”  
  
Her lips stretch and she pulls him deep into her mouth. It’s slippery and awkward and her jaw hurts, but she sucks and sucks and sucks. She hums a little, just to make him gasp, her hands reaching around to pull him more forcefully into her mouth.  
  
His hands grasp at her hair, pulling her up almost roughly as he whispers, “I think I said something about fucking,” and Ginny’s eyes slide shut on a hiss.  
  
He’s lifting her up, hands under her arse and then he’s sliding deep, deep into her, thrusting jerkily against her. Her hands clutch at him, nails scraping against the skin of his neck, and she can feel the muscles tense there as he strains towards his orgasm.  
  
In the dark hallway of the club, her knickers hang precariously from her ankle, and her eyes focus on the red fabric as his body jerks into her. She grows dizzy, feels the second orgasm rise inside of her, and this time she keeps falling.  
  
  
2  
  
Her dungeon room is cold to the point of freezing, but it’s winter holidays and with her dormitory mates away for the time being, it’s private, and that’s what matters.  
  
The room is awash is green, but all Ginny can see is the white-blonde head of her boyfriend and his dark, dark grey eyes. She smiles and sighs, stretching out on her bed. She’s nearly naked, and it’s the part of all this she loves most of all: his face pushed right against her dripping crotch.  
  
He breathes in, very deeply, and Ginny sighs, pushing herself further towards him. He’s taking his time, as he knows she likes it, fingertips skating along the pale flesh of her legs, tickling the spot beneath her right knee – where she’s particularly sensitive – and moving to push her thighs further apart.  
  
“Draco,” she keens, the last syllable catching and stretching as he finally – finally – gives her pussy a mighty lick with his tongue. She can feel him smile against her, and she thinks he’s certainly a smug little shit, but she wouldn’t have him any other way.  
  
He nuzzles against her. Her thighs fall further apart quite of their own accord, and his hand joins his tongue. He thrusts a finger into her, then another. “Your pussy smells fucking fantastic,” he mumbles against her, thumb on her clit and fingers pushing up into her.  
  
And Ginny cries out, her insides going liquid as the orgasm hits her full force.  
  
She’s shaken and sated as he crawls up her body, his tongue leaving a sticky, sweet trail of saliva as he kisses his way up her stomach and breasts – Ginny arches into him when he pauses to bite a hardened nipple – until he finally settles squarely on her mouth. In contrast to the cool air that glances every part of her now, his mouth is hot, and he deepens his kiss, tongue pushing past her teeth to swirl around her mouth.  
  
She feels his prick against her thigh, its tip wet, and Ginny pushes her mouth roughly against him, reaching a little awkwardly down to line him up with her cunt. She’s still a little shaken from her orgasm, but his trembling body tells her he won’t last much longer, that he needs it now, and she’s happy to give it to him.  
  
3  
  
  
Harry’s godfather, back from the dead. Sometimes, Ginny feels she can relate.  
  
It’s long after the war is over when he comes tumbling into their lives again. Quite literally, falling out of a veil, confused and alone.  
  
Most of his days are spent outside in Mr. Weasley’s shed, tinkering with the motorcycle that had been kept around with the vague notion of giving it to Harry someday.  
  
When Ginny begins spending her afternoons locked in the shed with him, everyone thinks it’s exactly what they need. They have both lost the most important person to them, after all.  
  
He is older. And if you ask some people, he’s gay. Neither of these facts seems to matter when he has her bent over his motorcycle, his greasy hands leaving sticky dark spots on her pale, freckled thighs. He does things just right, moves just the right way, and Ginny moans for him, like she never has, not with anyone else.  
  
She can’t tell just when the first flash of heat sparked between them, somewhere between Sirius asking her to hand him a wrench, and Ginny leaning over the engine to watch what he was doing, but his lips are the sort of hard that turn her insides to soft gooey chocolate, and Ginny is more than happy to spend her days with his cock buried deep inside of her.  
  
And today is no different. There’s the quick catch of his hands, as his fingers skim along her skin and her eyes shut as his mouth lowers to her neck, hungry and hot, tongue sliding wetly and smoothly against her freckled skin. His fingers search. He is pushing her skirt up, fumbling only slightly, hands curling against thighs, nails scraping as they push her knickers aside. A sigh, a sharp intake of breath when he finds her wet.  
  
In a flash, he’s got her turned around, and his cock presses hotly against the slit in her arse. She’s dizzy, full up of need and a fierce, fierce craving, pressing herself back against him. His left hand comes up and gives her nipple a dangerous twist, holding her in a catch of desire as she feels his right hand roughly unzip his trousers.  
  
And then, then, he’s pushing her knickers aside and sliding into her, deep, deep into her, and it sends a sort of trembling heat sliding up her spine, sends something tingling up her thighs, and Ginny’s breath hitches and slides inside her chest as he thrusts deeper into her.  
  
4  
  
She was supposed to meet Harry down by the lake in one hour. They almost never had any time to spend together, what with her OWLS looming ahead and Hermione constantly badgering him.  
  
And now she has to serve detention. With Parkinson. If it hadn’t felt so damn satisfying to ram her broom in Smith, she might actually regret it now.  
  
They’ve been chopping frog livers for over twenty minutes, and Ginny’s certain she will never, ever get the smell of dead frog washed from her fingertips. It’s too hot to wear robes in the dungeons this time of the afternoon, so Ginny’s in just a skirt and blouse, her robe draped over the back of the chair to the left of her. Professor Slughorn had been pretending to supervise them, but it wasn’t long before he’d flitted off to his rooms with a smile and a casual warning about behaving.  
  
Ginny blows a strand of hair from her eyes and glances over at Pansy, who has stopped chopping livers in favor of studying her with dark, unreadable eyes.  
  
She smiles mischievously when she notices Ginny’s attention.  
  
Ginny scowls, pulling another bowl of dead fogs roughly over, and grunts, “Get back to work, Parkinson, I’m not chopping all of these myself.”  
  
But Parkinson goes right on studying her. “You ever kissed a girl, Weasley?” she asks, almost too casually.  
  
Ginny stares at her. She blinks. And shakes her head.  
  
“What?” she finally sputters.  
  
Pansy gives another playful smile, full of secrets. “This is awfully boring, don’t you think?” she asks, sauntering over to Ginny. Ginny blinks again. She must be going mad.  
  
Pansy has really round breasts.  
  
She shakes the thought from her head, and ignores the other girl. She can hear Pansy's breath come out in heavy pants she’s standing so dangerously close to her.  
  
“Did you expect they’d make detention fun for us?” she asks with as much disdain as she can muster. The air seems to have leaked out the room and Ginny is perilously close to having some sort of mad dizzy spell.  
  
Pansy reaches over a small, pale hand and takes Ginny’s tiny paring knife away from her. Her breast pushes against Ginny’s arm.  
  
“What are you doing?” Ginny hisses, too stunned to move away.  
  
Pansy laughs, puts both hands on Ginny’s hips and pulls her closer. "I know a way to make this fun," she murmurs. "You sit you down in that chair right there, I push that skirt you’re wearing up your thighs and then I fuck you."  
  
Ginny gives a quiet cough, blinking hard as heat snakes it way through her body.  
  
"Sit down, Ginny," Pansy instructs with a deep, dark smile.  
  
Ginny sits, wondering if Pansy cast the Imperius on her, wondering if she cares. The chair is dark wood, smooth and hard beneath her bum.  
  
"Spread your legs," Pansy orders, dark eyes sparking. "Like that...good...wider."  
  
Ginny’s heart beats fast and she shivers when Pansy runs her tongue along her bottom lip and arches an eyebrow.  
  
"You’re going to like this," Pansy promises with an evil smile, dropping to her knees in front of Ginny and putting her hands on her freckled pale knees, pushing up her skirt.  
  
‘I promise.” She growls it, sending a river into Ginny’s knickers. Ginny squirms on the hard chair, barely restraining herself from lifting her hips off the chair, towards Pansy’s tongue that’s scraping knowingly against her teeth.  
  
"Take off your shirt," Pansy instructs.  
  
Her eyes flash as Ginny’s hands lift to do her bidding, undoing buttons to allow the cool kiss of air on her skin. Pansy seems utterly fascinated by the slow striptease, her eyes nearly glued to Ginny’s trembling hands.  
  
"God, you’re hot," she whispers into Ginny’s ear, her teeth scraping along the side of Ginny’s face. One of her hands is tangled in Ginny’s long catch of hair, the other moving to stroke the crotch of her rapidly soaking knickers.  
  
"I--" Her mouth is latched onto Ginny’s ear, and Ginny’s grinding, grinding against Pansy’s hand. “Fuck!”  
  
“I plan to,” Pansy whispers around a vicious grin.  
  
She hooks two fingers into the waistband of Ginny’s knickers and tears them off. Cool air whirls around her as Pansy moves a hand between her legs, sliding a finger and then two into Ginny, who moans as Pansy thrusts in and out slowly.  
  
“Touch yourself,” Pansy orders harshly. Ginny’s hands move, sliding up her ribs and squeezing her breasts. Her nipples are hard against her hands, and she massages her breasts as she squeezes her eyes shut, hips moving in circles.  
  
“Yes, God, you’re so pretty,” Pansy says, panting, voice low and dripping with desire. “Do you like how I'm touching you?" she asks, her breath hot in Ginny’s ear. "Do you want me to lick you?”  
  
“Oh, God,” Ginny keens, hands still grasping at her tits. She drags her eyes open, gaze locked onto Pansy’s darks eyes. “Don’t stop touching me,” Ginny begs, hips lifting clear off the chair to push against Pansy’s hand.  
  
"Harder," she pleads. "Please…harder. I'm –“  
  
"Oh, yes," she all but screams, "Yes yes yes...."  
  
Pansy thrusts in a fourth finger and Ginny wails, brain disengaging.  
  
  
5  
  
  
There’s no knock, but she can sense them anyway. Ginny pulls open the front door just as Ron’s reaching for the handle.  
  
And Harry falls into her arms as if she’s been waiting in this spot for his return. Maybe she has.  
  
She leads him upstairs by the hand, like a child, and stands him before her. He’s shaking, just a little, but behind his glasses his bright eyes crinkle and a small grin forms around his lips, a tentative hello.  
  
Her hands are steady. She lifts his worn T-shirt, fingernails lightly scratching the soft skin around his belly button. She smiles when she hears his sharp intake of breath, and his eyes ask a question, one that she answers by standing on tip toes and brushing her lips against his.  
  
Harry’s hands come up and grasp her upper arms. He pulls her into him, and it’s as if by holding her to him he can finally let go of the desperation within him. His mouth is suddenly ravenous. His tongue is pushing past her teeth to lick at the insides of her mouth, swallowing whatever noise she would have made. He leaves her mouth, lips searching for flesh, and his head lowers. He nips her neck, tongue running smoothly and wetly along her skin.  
  
But he’s still shaking and uncertain where to rest his hands, so Ginny takes the lead, first removing his glasses, watching his eyes go slightly unfocused as they steady on her, and stripping them of their clothing until they are both nearly naked with the hot summer air swirling around them, then leaning back against her childhood bed, inviting him to touch her.  
  
He traces her body with a sort of tenderness that says he expects she’ll break. His fingers ghost along her skin, starting at her toes, moving along her calves and past the sensitive skin behind her knees to push her thighs apart. Ginny’s mouth drops open in a pant. A fine sheen of sweat breaks out across her skin, but Harry only drags his fingertips across her crotch, moving his hand to her belly and tickling the skin around her belly button, causing it contract beneath his fingers.  
  
She moans, the sound turning into a whine, and she finds Harry giving her a knowing, teasing smile. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, the grin still playing around his mouth.  
  
Ginny grits her teeth. “I want you to touch me,” she answers, pushing her hips off her childhood bed impatiently. The room is unbearably warm.  
  
“Here?” he asks, hands again moving to her ankles. He lifts one leg, head bending down to kiss the delicate flesh on the inside of her ankle. She shakes her head no, unable to do more than stare as his tongue darts out and licks a wet, sticky line against her ankle.  
  
Ginny’s eyes slide shut as Harry begins his ascent up her body once more; where his hand lead the way, his tongue now follows, smoothing a long and sweet trail along her freckled flesh. His journey stops at her knickers. She can feel the damp pant of his breath against her thigh. She makes an impatient sound. Harry chuckles, the sound dangerously erotic, and he reaches a tentative tongue out, pushes it against her.  
  
Ginny’s body tenses and relaxes at once. It’s as if every part of her is connected to _that_ spot and she sighs and whimpers, the sounds foreign to her ears, as Harry’s tongue grows bolder, his mouth and teeth nipping and teasing her until she’s shaking.  
  
And then he’s gone, moving up her body. She makes a sound of protest, but feels him kissing his way up her body. His tongue whorls around her nipple, puckering it into something hard and finite and causing her back to arch and press further into him.  
  
When he slips into her, Ginny opens her mouth on a silent groan. Her hands clutch at his naked, slippery back, and she leaves her eyes open, watching the tendons in his neck tighten as he bends his head.  
  
It’s jerky and imperfect, but he fills her so completely, and the orgasm rises in her, and it never falls, it just rises higher and higher.  
  
Later, with the blue moonlight shining through the window, she looks over at his sleeping form and smiles. She’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.  
  



End file.
